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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100282">No Rest For the Wicked</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgeandlilly/pseuds/Redgeandlilly'>Redgeandlilly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Gen, Minor Character(s), Redemption, Strong Female Characters, Uriel is a sneaky bastard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:47:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24100282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redgeandlilly/pseuds/Redgeandlilly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What's the idiom? Life sucks and then you die?</p><p>If only.</p><p>Not so long after death Deirdre Archleone is given new life and inducted into the school of hard knocks, courtesy of a certain archangel. She goes along for a chance at freedom, determined not to learn her lesson. She's going to find her father, even if it kills her again. Fate has other ideas. Probable canon divergence.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nicodemus Archleone/Deirdre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know, I think I’d almost prefer hell,” I drawled, resisting the urge to flick a finger between those big puppyish eyes to see if the big dope would blink. It would be immensely satisfying.</p><p>Suicidal, but satisfying.</p><p>The Archangel Uriel stared back at me, his somber expression never wavering.</p><p>"That is, of course, your choice."</p><p>This time I really couldn't contain myself and my eyes rolled so hard that I feared they'd bounce right onto the ground. Angels. So maddeningly literal. No wonder the Fallen had never sought heaven again. At least as demons they had a sense of humor. </p><p>The emptiness ate at the inside of my skull. I missed Sathariel. It was unbearable to be so alone.  </p><p>The Between was entirely colored by human perception. And as that was what l was now, I was no exception. The world outside of the offices of the Between looked like a day in a rainy, fog-draped Chicago autumn. It had been summer when I died. Or was I remembering that incorrectly? Time ceased to have meaning in Tartarus, even in the reaches of far-flung memory. It had become a Sisyphean task to hold onto my sense of self while in my cell. </p><p>I sat on the opposite end of the stone steps as the Archangel fed birdseed to the pigeons hopping around his feet. I didn't know what they were, exactly. Nothing in this place was as it appeared. Maybe it was an illusion put on for my benefit, though I wasn't sure what he was hoping to accomplish with it. Kindness was an affectation, a nicety that the weaker of the species donned to avoid being trampled by the strong. The Archangel didn't need it, and thus the ostentation was all the more vexing. I didn't appreciate being toyed with. </p><p>"Why am I here, Watchman?"</p><p>"You know the purpose of this office, Deirdre. Why don't you tell me?"</p><p>My eyes narrowed and I tried to bore a hole into the side of his face with my accusatory stare. He projected an illusion of a young man with burnished gold hair that flopped messily over eyes as blue and unfathomable as the Aegean. He was dressed in a loose white cotton shirt, dark trousers, a slate gray trench coat, and boots, and leaned lightly against one of the concrete walls that enclosed the stairs. A far cry from the uniformed Amitiel who stood guard behind us. </p><p>As if I was any sort of threat to either of them anymore. Maybe I ought to have found it flattering. I didn't. </p><p>It was the coat, more than anything else, that irked me. My father owned one identical in every respect. Angels were not so different from their Fallen counterparts as they'd like to believe. The article was like a well-placed jab in the place where I was weakest, and it was no accident. Such naked manipulation tactics could only bode ill.</p><p>"Deflection, angel?" I bit out, tone more scathing than I'd intended it. "Tread lightly. I hear that's a stone's throw away from mistruth. Sathariel tells me that daddy dearest disapproves of such things."</p><p>The angel turned his head only slightly, just enough to give me direct eye contact, but it was enough. </p><p>The archangel turned that stare on me, and I cringed away from his gaze on instinct. A familiar feeling of dread unfurled like a poisonous flower in my stomach. Before, when I'd faced the swords and the many knights who wielded them, I'd always assumed that it was Sathariel's fear that motivated the reaction. Great and terrible, the power of God was perhaps the only thing that could fell a Fallen and end their righteous quest.</p><p>Now? I'm wasn't so sure. There was something hideously absolute about Uriel's gaze. It was like sandpaper, working down the lacquered layer of lies I'd told myself to allow for sleep when the nights were their worst.</p><p>"You assume that because you have hosted one of my former brethren that you can grasp my purpose. You are wrong."</p><p>In truth, I knew only a fraction of what Uriel did. Sathariel was always more concerned with Gabriel or Michael, heaven's fiercest and most outspoken warriors. Uriel tended to be quieter. We never forgot he was there, of course, but even with the Fallen, it was easy to ignore some of Heaven's more unobtrusive projects until they became relevant.</p><p>I shrugged, trying to pretend that the ice in his stare didn't chill me down to my marrow. "That doesn't change the fact that you're deflecting, Archangel. Why am I here?"</p><p>A bit of frustration rode out on his next exhale. Not a sigh. Angels rarely did anything so undignified as sigh. But I was clearly trying his patience.</p><p>A thin smile curled my lips. Good. I was glad I was still capable of stymieing heaven's interests for even a moment. No longer a dagger in the side of angels, perhaps. I was a mere grain of sand in their shoe without Sathariel. But still, it was gratifying. I was still here. Still me, after all the time in Tartarus.</p><p>"I am here to make you an offer, Deirdre."</p><p>"I believe bargains are more our shtick," I say with a light laugh. "And I know all this already. Your yes-man said as much when he came to retrieve me. Why should I want anything from you, Archangel?"</p><p>"Because," he said with infinite patience. "I can offer you freedom."</p><p>That successfully diverted my attention. Freedom? An escape from Tartarus? I'd tried many, many times during my sojourn there. There was no way out. Not while I was a shade, at any rate. Even this small respite had been an unexpected boon.</p><p>I still held out silent hope that my father would find a way to rescue me from Hades vault. I thirsted for news about his condition. Had he killed the damned wizard for me? It had been my only request before I'd agreed to take on the mission. My dying wish.</p><p>No one in the Beyond would talk to me, aside from the two angels at my back and side.</p><p>Suspicion instantly doused the spark of hope that burned in my chest. It was a bitter truth of the universe that nothing in the world was free. Not even a miracle.</p><p>"Terms and conditions apply, I assume?"</p><p>My voice came out dry and clipped. I was gratified that I betrayed no outward sign of my interest to the angel. To be like one of those sycophants that tripped over themselves to please one of heaven's dupes? No. Never. I would never stoop to that. Still, every moment that I kept him talking was another I didn't have to spend in Tartarus.</p><p>"There would be terms, yes. It was difficult to convince Mab and Hades to part with your soul."</p><p>I bared my teeth just a little. It was incredibly frustrating to be trapped in this human form with its blunt teeth and nails, limited fighting capability, and solitary mind space. With a simple effort of will Sathariel could give me ripping claws and scything hair. Lucifer below, but I missed the easy strength of my Fallen. How gratifying it would be to stab a strut of steel right through Mab's orbital socket and stir for a little bit.</p><p>Though I didn't know outcome of the final battle, I knew now that she'd set us up. Outplayed my father on a board he'd been fielding for centuries. Had this journey truly necessitated my death? The question had only occurred to me after the fact, when it had been far too late.</p><p>"And you convinced them how?"</p><p>"I told them the truth. Your soul falls under my domain for the time being. Whatever happens in the After...well that is your business."</p><p>I couldn't help it. A hysterical laugh bubbled up my throat and spilled into the chill night air.</p><p>"Me? You're trying to tell me that you're going to save me?"</p><p>Uriel's face glowed slightly and thunder rolled overhead.</p><p>"I save no one. That is not my place."</p><p>"Yes, yes victory in Jesus and all that fucking shit."</p><p>The angel somehow seemed taller in the next instant, though nothing had changed. More light bled from his skin and it threatened to sear my eyes. Much like the Swords, Uriel's power was terrifying to behold. I managed to summon up an ounce of courage from somewhere though.</p><p>"Send me back, if I'm pissing you off, Uri."</p><p>For a second, I thought he would. The entire Between seemed to tremble with the force of his anger and then...it stopped. The immense presence of Uriel settled and he was just a man again.</p><p>"Your choice was impeded."</p><p>"I made my choices. Gleefully. I don't regret a thing."</p><p>Untrue. There were moments. But all humans faltered in their resolve at least once. Sathariel knew, had assured me that a stumble only became defeat if I stayed down.</p><p>"You had less choice than you think, Deirdre."</p><p>Now his voice was soft, barely audible. Cloying pity dripped from every syllable and I once again wished for my claws. This...lackey, condescending to me?</p><p>"I don't want your compassion, angel. I mean it. I regret nothing."</p><p>He continued on as if I hadn't spoken, ignoring the blatant untruth.</p><p>"You were made a tool by the Fallen from the very start. Groomed and gaslighted by your father and mother to be a lieutenant and presented with a coin to guide your actions from the first sign of independence. Aged eight. You had perhaps...six months in which to explore your own mind. Six months out of a millennium and a half. And once Sathariel molded you to his tastes...well, there was little that could be done. Knights tried, of course. But both Fallen and father were at your ear, feeding you lies."</p><p>"My father loved me!"</p><p>Uriel nodded absently. "Yes. In so far as he is capable of such a thing. It was that love that almost compelled him to drop Anduriel in Hades' vault. Michael Carpenter almost succeeded. But Anduriel has had him tethered for too long, and his own pride cost him the redemption he so desperately needed."</p><p>I dismissed the notion with a soft sound of disgust. My father, turn away from his path? Never. He'd blazed it through time and the ever-shifting tide of humanity. There was no way that he'd stumble. It was one of the many things I'd idolized him for. My father was steadfast, no matter what the cost.</p><p>Even if the cost was my life. The angel had been sent to deceive me. But still...the offer was tempting. Freedom.</p><p>"What are the terms, then?"</p><p>Uriel nodded, seeming unsurprised by either my anger or my question.</p><p>"I'm conducting something of an...experiment. Four beings with a great deal to atone for. Humans who will have a role to play in the coming confrontation. You would be returned to Earth much as you were. Excluding Sathariel's coin, of course. Mortal and capable of choice. After that...well, what happens then is within your control, to an extent."</p><p>"An extent?" I drawled. "I thought you were not allowed to impede mortal choice. What if I decide to seek out my father and resume the Coin?"</p><p>"You will not. One of the conditions of your return, as requested by Mab. You will not attempt to contact any Denarian. If they come across you, it cannot be helped."</p><p>Mortal life without Sathariel? Remain alone in the echoing chambers of my own skull, weak and human and vulnerable to all the indignities that came with it? It was almost worse than the thought of returning to my cell.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>There was at least a hope of resuming my former position. Anduriel would surely find my shadow sometime and relay my continued existence to my father. If he came to me and offered me the coin back...Yes. Yes, it would be worth putting up with whatever nonsense the Archangel had cooked up. I could play along.</p><p>"Anything else?"</p><p>"I cannot command you to take action, Deirdre. But I do hope you'll use the opportunity to find and nurture some sense of self. Perhaps when you realize your own value, you can finally appreciate the value of others."</p><p>"Yes, yes. Redemption, rainbows and kumbaya. When can I go back to Earth?"</p><p>The Archangel's smile was strained. He gestured toward the building before us. "Simply walk through those doors. Amitiel will see you to the other side." </p><p>I pushed up from the granite stairs, dusting the grit off my palms. I raised an imperious brow at the guard, offering him a smirk.</p><p>"You heard him. Take me back."</p><p>
  <i>So I can find a way back to my father, you simp.</i>
</p><p>Amitiel cast a glance at Uriel that clearly cast aspersions on his sanity. He didn't question the Archangel, though. He held his elbow out to me in a gallant gesture my father had performed for many centuries. After a moment of hesitation, I gripped his forearm. Awareness of his power blazed across my skin for a moment, lighting up every nerve ending. For an instant, it felt like having Sathariel back, though the power had a slightly different tenor. </p><p>Then he extended a hand, pushed open what appeared to be the door to a police precinct and we stepped through. Except...I was not met by the bustle of a busy station the way I had once before, on the way in. Instead, the door opened into what appeared to be a stone room, not unlike a prison. The mortar between was caked in grime, the only window I could see even more so. </p><p>For a second, I was sure I'd just been deposited into a new prison cell, this one more filthy than the last. Tartarus had been a sterile, white void. This was...worse, in some respects. Betrayal spasmed through me, even as I took my first shaky step forward. I tried to turn and demand an explanation from the angel, but he was already gone. </p><p>Worse, something turned beneath my foot, knocking me off balance. I fell, hands slapping the stone just in time to save my face from a collision. With a snarl, I turned to see what I'd tripped over and found a shockingly pink heel just behind me, of the sort that strippers normally wore. Five or six inches in length, with glitter accents. Someone was here with me. Someone with incredibly tacky taste in footwear. </p><p>The shoe was on a welcome mat. So this...stone hovel was meant to be someone's <i>home</i>? </p><p>Footsteps padded toward me and I craned my neck, offering the newcomer a scowl. She smirked down at me, unperturbed. </p><p>There was no denying she was beautiful. Shapely, if not long, legs , lush hips, dramatically cut waist, large, likely surgically-augmented breasts, skin as pale and unblemished as a young girl's, though this woman was probably approaching her thirties. Dyed red hair that was beginning to show ashy blonde roots. She had deep blue eyes, smudged with dark circles just beneath and a generously proportioned mouth. </p><p>"Ah, look what the angel dragged in," she said, smirk only growing wider. Then she spoke louder, for someone else's benefit, I assumed. "We've got another one Mags!" </p><p>"Bring her in, Trixie. Dinner's ready and there's a lot to discuss," a gentle female voice said from just beyond my line of sight. </p><p>"C'mon then," Trixie said, throwing the sheet of red hair behind one shoulder in an arrogant gesture. She extended her hand to me, scowling like this was some sort of huge chore. "Time for fancy ramen. <i>Again.</i> You treat Mags with respect, okay? She's house mother while we're here. Featherbutt put her in charge."</p><p>I snorted a short laugh, as I took her hand, deciding that I liked this Trixie person just a little more for having the courage, or perhaps the stupidity, to call the Archangel Uriel "featherbutt." </p><p>Trixie led me through the wide stone room and seconds later we rounded a paneled room divider that separated the bare entryway from the makeshift kitchen. There was little waiting on the other side. There wasn't even a kitchenette. Just a stove, a pair of cabinets situated above and beside it, and that was it. A small closet served as the pantry, I assumed. A card table and a pair metal folding chairs were set up at the center. A woman was just setting it, ladling a helping of the ramen into plastic bowls for herself and Trixie. </p><p>She had dark hair and dark eyes. She wasn't beautiful in the traditional sense, especially not next to Trixie, who looked like the vapid children's toy come to life. But her features were sharp and intriguing enough to catch the eye upon a second glance. A quiet sense of power clung to the air around her. It always had, for so long as I'd known her. </p><p>"Margaret LeFay," I breathed. </p><p>She glanced up and caught sight of me hovering, gobsmacked at the edge of their ramshackle kitchen and smiled. It sent smile lines fanning across her face.</p><p>"Ah, Deirdre Archleone. I did wonder. Welcome to Redemption Boot Camp. Sit. I'll fill you in on the finer points while we have dinner."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I prodded unenthusiastically at the slice of boiled egg that bobbed along the surface of the ramen bowl. </p>
<p>"Eat," Margret prompted. "Believe me, you're going to want to have a full stomach before the fatigue hits. I know you can't feel it yet, as you've just arrived, but you're going to crash hard. Coming back from the dead takes it out of a girl. I hear from Trixie that it soundly trumps jet lag."   </p>
<p>I glanced obliquely at the only other occupant of the card table. She appeared completely unconcerned, examining her nails. </p>
<p>"We need to get jobs," she grumbled. "This nutritional regimen is killing my hair and nails, Mags." </p>
<p>"Call up Uriel, dear," Margaret said with a wry smile. "I'm sure he'll be <i>very</i> sympathetic." </p>
<p>Trixie glanced up from her nail beds long enough to scowl at her companion. </p>
<p>"I'm just saying. He sent us here with other resources. Would it have killed him to give us more than enough for one month's rent?" </p>
<p>"God works in mysterious ways," Margaret said sagely, but I caught a glimmer of dark amusement in her eyes. </p>
<p>She'd been so very promising once upon a time. Father had offered her a coin. Lasciel's coin, in fact. Would Dresden have been half so bothersome if raised up alongside us and trained properly?</p>
<p>Trixie sank back in her chair, sullen as a child and glared at her own bowl. "We're really getting fucked up the ass here, Mags, and not in the fun way. You can't get near electronics without shorting them out and I'm really only good at one thing. Hard to get back into porn when everyone thinks you've been dead for years." </p>
<p>"Porn?" I echoed. "An Archangel of the Lord fished a porn star from perdition? What the hell for?" </p>
<p>At least Margaret LeFey was somewhat understandable. When I'd met her she'd been embroiled in preternatural politics and handling herself well. She was a powerful wizard in her own right and the mother of one of the most meddlesome I'd met to date. She'd mattered. </p>
<p>This woman? She hadn't managed to claw her way toward being a footnote in the annals of history. </p>
<p>"The same reason any of us were saved," Margaret said with a shrug. "Her choice was impeded. You were a thrall to Natalia Raith for how many years, Trixie?"</p>
<p>Trixie shuddered delicately, paled, and refused to look at Margaret. </p>
<p>"I don't really want to talk about it, Mags," she whispered. "It wasn't just her and I...God, I was passed around like a Fritos bag at a frat party. I don't want to say more than that. By the end, I was barely <i>me</i> anymore." </p>
<p>Margaret reached over and clasped Trixie's hand. There was something very tender in her eyes that I couldn't understand.</p>
<p>"That still doesn't explain much. If angels were allowed to save every White Court thrall in history, they'd have an army at their disposal. What's so special about you?" </p>
<p>"She's a prophetess," Margaret said, bringing a steaming spoonful of ramen to her lips. The noodles trailed in a manner vaguely reminiscent of loose intestines. "Trixie manifested Cassandra's Tears as a young woman." </p>
<p>I snorted. "Oh, please. It's always a scam. It doesn't even take that much acting ability. I saw only one genuine case in the fifteen centuries I've lived." </p>
<p>"Now you've seen two. Do you really think she could have pulled the wool over the eyes of an archangel?" </p>
<p>I could concede the point. Trixie seemed the sort to lie to gain attention, but it wouldn't fool the Archangel. But if the gift was genuine, that only muddied the issue further. </p>
<p>An amoral wizard, a porn star prophetess, a former Knight of the Coin, and...</p>
<p>"Where's the fourth?" I asked. "The Watchman said there'd be four." </p>
<p>Trixie sat up at last, pushing her bowl away from her. As I watched, she donned the mask of the vain and vapid porn star again.</p>
<p>"We never know who's coming until the package arrives. Yours is stuffed right next to the divider. It came yesterday. Apparently, Mags was here for a week or two before mine turned up." </p>
<p>Twisting in my chair, I saw that she was correct. A large package was situated near the divider. It would probably reach my hip if I stood near it. When I squinted I could make out a name and address on the sticker. </p>
<p>
  <i>DeeDee Archer, Apt. 316, St. John's Street, Los Angeles, California...</i>
</p>
<p>"DeeDee Archer?" I seethed. "That fucker named me DeeDee?" </p>
<p>"I like the name DeeDee," Trixie mused. "Reminds me of the ballerina on that kid's show that my sister used to watch."</p>
<p>"You would," I hissed. I turned my glare on Margaret, who was trying her best to stifle a laugh behind her fist. "Do not laugh at me, LeFey, I swear I will kill you." </p>
<p>She pressed her lips together so hard they turned white. It didn't appease me. I shoved out of my chair and stalked toward the box, kicking it onto its side in my frustration. The top had already been opened with a box cutter and the contents spilled sideways onto the floor. </p>
<p>Clothing, mostly in shades of gray and black, composed most of the pile. There was a cash purse, probably containing enough to pay another month's rent, and a manila envelope buried near the bottom. I snatched it, wrenched open the tines, and shook the contents into my palm. </p>
<p>Papers. A birth certificate, social security card, driver's license, and more, all bearing the name DeeDee Archer. I was about to hurl the entire thing across the room when the last item caught my attention. </p>
<p>It was a photograph. A simple candid shot taken by an amateur photographer, by the looks of it. At the moment, though, it was stunning. </p>
<p>It was taken near Hubsy République, a cafe very near the Eiffel Tower. It was a rare moment with the three of us together, doing very little. Mother sat close to father. She looked stunning in a green, sleeveless dress. She was laughing, amused at something either father or Imariel had said. Father was watching her, a tiny smile curling his lips, and I was watching them both. I looked...happy. Happier than I could remember being for a while. </p>
<p>My fingers trembled and my eyes burned as I stared down at it. Manipulative bastard. He was doing this to hurt me. </p>
<p>But I didn't throw it. I let the whole stack fall limply onto the pile of clothing, balling my hands into fists at my sides. Claws. I needed claws and the trailing, deadly hair of Sathariel's demon form. I needed someone else to suffer as much, or more, than me. </p>
<p>"Deirdre," Margaret began. "Come back to the table and we can-" </p>
<p>"I don't want to hear it. Just...explain later, LeFey. I need a shower." </p>
<p>Alive for only ten minutes, and already I wanted to shoot myself. Maybe that had been his goal all along. Move me from Tartarus to Hell after I ended things all over again. </p>
<p>I stripped off clothes as I went, not even sure where the shower was or where I'd sleep afterward. It didn't matter. I wasn't going to stay here any longer than necessary. I was going to find my father, even if it killed me. Again. </p>
<p>The single bathroom was situated near the back. It was a glorified closet, the shower no more than thirty-six inches square, the sink small and dingy, the toilet low to the ground, and in need of a scrub. It was small enough that it was difficult for someone of even my slight proportions to turn around easily. The room smelled strongly of mildew, probably coming from the blackened veins of the stuff on the grout between shower tiles. </p>
<p>My throat was too tight. Why had I agreed to this? I hadn't expected the Archangel to deposit me into the lap of luxury, but why this? What point was there to any of this? Was this a punishment after all? I cranked the knob, half expecting the black stuff around the base to flake off in my hand. </p>
<p>The pipes groaned and the water came in spurts at first. At least it was warm. That was more than I'd been expecting. I flicked the lights off and shimmied out of the rest of my clothing before stepping over the shallow lip of the stall. A small night-light cast long shadows over the room. Perfect. </p>
<p>I stayed motionless for a few minutes, letting the steaming water slam into my back, easing the tension of my arrival. LeFey had been right. The fatigue was sucking at the edges of my consciousness already. I just had one thing I needed to do before I slept. </p>
<p>"Anduriel," I whispered into the gloom. "Anduriel, please. If you can hear me, tell my father I'm alive. I'm being held at Apartment 316, St. John's Street, in Los Angeles, California. Find me, please." </p>
<p>There was no reply, of course. No way for him to answer back, even if he had heard me, and there was a good chance he hadn't. It was a constant hum, to a being like Anduriel. Too easy for my voice to be lost among the din. I'd have to try harder when I had time and opportunity. There were places where the Watchman couldn't see or hear. I'd have to find them. But tonight, I had to try. At least once. </p>
<p>I was alone, despite the presence of two warm bodies in the vicinity. Father had to find me. He <i>had to</i>. </p>
<p><i>But,</i> a quiet, niggling doubt whispered. <i>What if he doesn't?</i> </p>
<p>My knees buckled and I slid down the tiled wall to the floor of the shower. And, for the first time since my death, I wept.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i> Six Weeks Later...</i>
</p>
<p>"At least this one had a cute butt," Trixie mused. "Still a little short though. What's your obsession with Jewish guys, DeeDee?"</p>
<p>Trixie leaned her weight against one wall, nursing a cup of coffee in almost the same manner I was. Her hair was stringy, having just stepped out of the shower. I'd been lounging in my secondhand bathrobe for long enough mine had air-dried. Margaret was gone, which meant I could finally use the Mr. Coffee we'd pooled our money to buy. </p>
<p>I hadn't bothered to offer any to Jacob. Or...Joram. Joshua? I'd forgotten already and I wasn't thumbing through my phone to find out. He didn't matter. None of them did. They served their purpose and then they left. </p>
<p>"I told you not to call me that, <i>Tricia Scrump.</i>" </p>
<p>If I'd been unfortunate enough to bear that as my legal name from birth, I'd probably have preferred Trixie Vixen as well. Tracy Vaughn, now. </p>
<p>Trixie scowled at me over the chipped rim of her mug. "Bitch." </p>
<p>"Whore." </p>
<p>She scoffed. "Oh, please. You've had at least one, sometimes <i>two</i> men a day since you bought your phone and downloaded the app! That was what, three weeks ago? So that's twenty-one guys on the low end. I was a porn star and I had <i>less</i> sex in a month than you've had in the last three weeks. You do not get to cast stones." </p>
<p>"I see public education wasn't wasted on you after all," I mumbled, scrolling through the phone. Hm. Elijah, age 26, could work. A little tall for my taste but... </p>
<p>Trixie tried to bat the phone out of my hand. Coffee threatened to slosh out of my cup as I danced away from her. If my hands hadn't been full, I'd have probably thrown a punch. </p>
<p>"Stop ignoring me. You haven't spoken to Mags or me much since arriving. The whole point of this is to try to be better. Maybe if you'd open up, you could make friends. We could help you." </p>
<p>"Maybe that's why <i>you're</i> here. I'm not going to dance on a string for Uriel's amusement. I'm doing what I have to and that's all. No more, no less." </p>
<p>According to Margaret LeFey, we were strongly encouraged, but not required, to try to better ourselves. It didn't matter how we sought to do it, just that we not fall back into our destructive patterns. Each of us had been forbidden to contact something or someone that could tempt us back into our old ways. With the good deeds, we could, theoretically, start to shift the balance and earn ourselves a new destination in the After. </p>
<p>Neither would tell what afterlife had awaited them and I didn't press. Some things you never want to relive. </p>
<p>"Fine. At least answer my first question." </p>
<p>I drained my cup and set it aside, not deigning to answer. I strode toward my room. It was 9:00 pm. I was driving a wealthy heiress home from LAX at 12:00. If I got there early enough, I'd be able to build up a rapport with Elijah. If I was extremely lucky, I could escape the apartment for an evening or two by staying at his place. Even a bachelor pad would be less squalid. </p>
<p>Trixie wouldn't like the explanation, even if I'd given her one. </p>
<p>It'd been a game I'd once played with my father when we'd been living in Jerusalem many centuries back. I took lovers, especially young, nubile men, and hid the evidence. Without fail, he would discover them. It added to the thrill of the act to know one day soon, my father would find us, rip my lover off of me and end him. Father would stain fistfuls of my clothing with blood as he backed me into a wall, trapping me there. Then he'd show me exactly who I belonged to. Part of me hoped that, by enacting it, he'd find me yet again. </p>
<p>And in the meantime, there was the fact the abject hedonism would annoy the Archangel. A win all around, in my view. </p>
<p>I let the robe fall from my shoulders the second the door clicked shut behind me, then stooped to find the pencil skirt and blouse that served as my uniform. A chauffeur. A little less undignified than fast food or janitorial work but only just. Deirdre Archleone, a service worker. Humiliating. </p>
<p>"Where's the damn blouse?" I muttered, rifling through the stack of discarded clothing. </p>
<p>"Behind the door," a man's gentle tenor said. "Where you cast it yesterday morning." </p>
<p>A small yelp escaped me. I whirled, hands flying up instinctively to cover myself, no matter how useless the gesture. The man sitting on the bed had already gotten an eyeful. </p>
<p>The Archangel Uriel settled on the corner of the bed nearest me, long legs dangling off the sides, trailing through the tangled mess of clothes on the floor. He barely seemed to notice. </p>
<p>"Do you ever fucking knock?" I hissed. </p>
<p>His expression barely flickered. </p>
<p>"Your nudity is of no concern to me, Deirdre. Despite human fiction, it is not half so appealing to us as you think. At least, not to those still in the host. The Fallen have strange predilections." </p>
<p>"It is of concern to <i>me</i>, you pompous asshole! Close your eyes and let me put some clothes on!"</p>
<p> Uriel frowned but did as he was told, screwing his eyes shut as I crossed the room to retrieve the blouse. I squirmed into the uniform as quickly as possible, wondering if I could sneak out the door while he was still otherwise occupied. Unlikely. He could, for a short period, stop time. Powerful and damn near-omniscient, the Archangel was not so easily thwarted. </p>
<p>The second the blouse was buttoned and the pencil skirt smoothed into place his eyes snapped open. </p>
<p>"What do you want, Watchman? I'm going to be late for work." </p>
<p>His stare was a little bleak. "Deirdre, must you truly lie?"</p>
<p>"You'd prefer it if I told you to fuck off?" </p>
<p>"Yes. It would at least be an honest sentiment." </p>
<p>"Fine then. Fuck off." </p>
<p>"We must speak." </p>
<p>I sank against the wall, crossing my arms over my chest. "Of course we must. What about this time? I stopped trying to call for Anduriel." </p>
<p>The Watchman had allowed it for three nights in a row before stopping by to remind me that intentional contact with the others was forbidden. Another infraction and I'd find myself in the Between, awaiting sentencing. </p>
<p>"You have done nothing, Deidre." </p>
<p>I laughed. "That's sort of the point, right? I've done nothing worth objecting to." </p>
<p>"And nothing worth lauding," he pointed out. "You cannot walk this line forever." </p>
<p>"Want to bet? I can maintain this for however long I have, angel. I'll live a bland, mediocre, half-baked life. Most humans do. You've gotten what you wanted. I'm not helping my father. But I'm not helping you either. Net-zero. That is the best you can expect."</p>
<p>"You are capable of much more. You were brought back for a purpose. Do not squander the second chance you've been given. Opportunities will present themselves. Do not overlook them. I will send help to you. I urge you not to reject that either." </p>
<p>"I thought I told you to leave," I said, pushing off the wall. "Give all the counsel you like, Watchman. You have no power here. Fuck off and fuck you." </p>
<p>He left. One blink he was sitting on the bed, watching me with dismay, the next he was gone, leaving me alone in the shambles of my room. I glanced down at my phone, at the vaguely condescending smirk on the profile picture. I swiped right. </p>
<p>I'd send a big, literal fuck you to the angel sometime after work. And until then, I had a client to meet. </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>I didn't hate this job, just the step down it represented. For long hours, I had time to myself, which I didn't enjoy. I wasn't adjusting to solitude well. But sometimes the clients were entertaining, it was a career that paid well, and I'd soon have enough to pay for something better than the hovel Uriel had arranged for us. </p>
<p>And, slim as the chances were, it was a profession in which I could make contact with Father or Mother again. Father had his Squires, and so rarely had a need for a professional driver. Mother, on the other hand, enjoyed using them, if only so she could kill them if they saw something they ought not to. Mother wouldn't have Sathariel's coin but she always had at least one in reserve. I'd take what I could at this point. </p>
<p>Tinder was a dearth of class, wit, or style, and Elijah was particularly uninspired. We exchanged texts anyway because I needed a warm body in my bed when I arrived home. I'd trade lackluster sex for the ability to curl into a male side when the nightmares came. </p>
<p>They'd begun to trickle in at around day three and had only grown worse as time passed. Every dream had happened, sometime, someplace, and hadn't plagued me the way they did now. Every angle of it seemed wrong, distorted by a carnival mirror. The faces were familiar, but not the emotion they elicited. There had been no horror, only the heady feeling of power. After the last, I'd actually screamed myself awake. </p>
<p>
  <i>The babe blinked huge, dark eyes up at me, completely unaware. It didn't even seem frightened by the alien face of the demon's form. It batted at one sharp jut of hair with a pudgy hand. He was the son of a Senator. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He'd been named Mettius. His head fit into the palm of my clawed hand. The Senator had failed my father. Anduriel held him tight, dragging him to his knees feet away, where he could see, but still do nothing. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Please," he gasped. "Please. He's my only son..."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Deirdre." </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>One word. I knew what I must do. </i>
</p>
<p><i>I smiled gently at Mettius before I crushed his skull.</i> </p>
<p>The knock on the car window made me jerk upright in my seat. Only then did I realize that a young woman was hovering near the passenger's side door. Tall, blonde, and leggy, just the way I'd been told she'd be. It was the rest of her that didn't gel with my expectations. </p>
<p>She was incredibly thin, the result of disease or drug abuse, rather than genetics or dieting. Her white-blonde hair was mussed, one mauve strip in the front standing out starkly from the ghostly color like a bloodstain. She wore a Grateful Dead cut off shirt and a pair of ripped blue jeans. With one hand she motioned for me to roll down the window. </p>
<p>"Ah, Deirdre. Right on time," she said with a sly grin. Her teeth were surprisingly white and straight. "Uriel said you would be." </p>
<p>I gripped the steering wheel so hard it creaked. So this was what he'd meant. This must be our fourth. I wasn't sure why she'd been given enough money to solicit me while the rest of us were damn near bankrupt upon arrival. </p>
<p>No need to be polite, then. </p>
<p>"Who the hell are you?" </p>
<p>She beamed, very obviously pleased with herself. </p>
<p>"My name is Lash. Let's chat."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I kept glancing over at the woman in the passenger's seat, casting her looks of mild revulsion. I'd seen some disgusting behavior in the back seat of these cars but was able to ignore it. She was in the front with me and the scent of the food she'd ordered made me feel faintly nauseous. There was only so much meat one could smell before it got excessive. </p>
<p>The floorboard on her side of the car was packed full with paper bags. She'd ordered most of the menu at the nearest Burger King and was now halfway through her fourth Whopper. </p>
<p>She wiped a smear of ketchup from the side of her mouth when she'd finished it. </p>
<p>"Are you through stuffing your face?" I snapped. "I'm still waiting on the answer to 'who the hell are you?'" </p>
<p>She plucked the fries from the nearest bag and situated the cardboard container between her thighs instead of immediately answering. She offered a pair to me. </p>
<p>"Want some?" </p>
<p>"No." </p>
<p>She shrugged. "Suit yourself." </p>
<p>She let her head loll back onto the headrest as she devoured the fries, eyes closed in a look of apparent ecstasy. </p>
<p>"God in heaven, this is good! I've never really tasted outside of human perception before. It's so much better in person."</p>
<p>"Bully for you. Answer the question." </p>
<p>The woman finally looked over and frowned at me. </p>
<p>"You're in rare form, Deirdre." </p>
<p>"Stop acting like we're friends. I don't know you." </p>
<p>At least I didn't think I knew her. The name she'd given my employer hadn't rung any bells. Shelia Lashaye. Much like Trixie Vixen, I didn't understand why Uriel could possibly have shoved her into our lives. The track marks on her arms looked even worse at this distance. It was clear that this woman had abused every vein in her body chasing a high. </p>
<p>Still, there was a sort of...irritating familiarity. Something that set my teeth on edge and made me believe I ought to be annoyed, though she hadn't given me any provocation. Yet. </p>
<p>"Ah. I see. She didn't tell Sathariel or Anduriel?"</p>
<p>I jerked the wheel a little too hard and almost steered us into the opposite lane of traffic. Thankfully, at this hour, there was no one to collide with. </p>
<p>"What? How do you-?" </p>
<p>Almost no one in the world knew that name. Father burned records pertaining to the Fallen regularly. I knew no one in living memory had known Sathariel's name except, perhaps, the Archive. Even the Church hadn't known it. </p>
<p>Shelia Lashaye's smile was a devious twist of lips. Again, familiarity tingled in the back of my mind, an itch I couldn't quite scratch. </p>
<p>"Oh I know a great deal about you, Deirdre. Things you probably haven't puzzled out for yourself yet. She didn't work with Anduriel or Sathariel often but she observed. Angels are excellent judges of character." </p>
<p>There was almost total silence in the car for the space of sixty seconds. The sounds of the city were muffled by the tempered glass and the hum of the engine faded to background noise as I sifted through the information she'd just given me. To an outsider, it wouldn't have meant much but to me...</p>
<p>Inside information. Angelic origin. That devious smile. The name. </p>
<p>"Lasciel?" </p>
<p>It didn't make sense. The mercenary named Ascher had wielded her coin. Even if Ascher had perished during the raid of Hades' vault, Lasciel would be sharing space with Sathariel's coin in my father's pocket. Failing that, on a shelf in a monastery halfway across the world. And she'd never be caught working with Uriel. </p>
<p>Lash tilted her head, considering it. She licked her fingers free of salt almost absentmindedly before reaching down for the sleeve of onion rings. </p>
<p>"No, I don't think so. Not anymore, at any rate. Not after what happened with Harry in the Raith deeps."</p>
<p>My grip tightened on the wheel and I performed a jerky right turn to reach our exit. Now I <i>did</i> remember something of that conversation. My time in Tartarus had sanded away the fine edges of my memory, plucking away certainties one by one. The isolation had been so great I'd begun to question if I had ever existed at all. A sensory deprivation chamber from hell.</p>
<p>"The Shadow," I growled. "You're Lasciel's shadow. The one Dresden destroyed." </p>
<p>Neither Anduriel or Sathariel had quite understood how the Wizard had accomplished it. I understood Lasciel's fury well enough. Bested by a mortal Wizard whose only extraordinary skill was to stick his hawkish nose where it wasn't welcome. Without her Shadow, she was much weakened, unable to tempt from a distance. She needed direct, explicit consent from all future hosts, which hampered her unique abilities almost to the point of uselessness.</p>
<p>Lash threw back her head and laughed, which turned quickly to a cough as she half-inhaled her onion ring. She thumped her self twice on the chest before she could speak. Her eyes were streaming, though there was still dark amusement in their depths. </p>
<p>"Oh, Lasciel, you duplicitous bitch..." She devolved into more laughter until she was just wheezing, clutching her sides like it hurt. "Is that what she told you?" </p>
<p>Once again, I had the feeling that my father and I had been outplayed, this time by an element on our own side of the board. The destruction of her shadow, the very rejection of her being, and the reckless endangerment of the spirit of intellect he bore had guaranteed she'd come down on Father's side during any confrontation. </p>
<p>Except...it appeared it wasn't the whole truth. </p>
<p>"What are you talking about, Shadow?" </p>
<p>She seized one of the onion rings and casually tossed it at the side of my face. Somehow, through sheer coincidence or good planning, the deep-fried side dish managed to snag my ear and hang there like a malodorous accessory. If I hadn't been merging into traffic, I'd have tossed it back, aiming for her eyes. </p>
<p>"My name is Lash. Get used to hearing it. I'm your new roommate." </p>
<p>Fury seized my heart in a fist and began squeezing so hard it was difficult to breathe, see, or think. Our modest living space only had two bedrooms and a front room. There wasn't even a proper kitchen. Margaret and Trixie had begun rooming together after my arrival, offering me a modicum of privacy. It made sense that the fourth would room with me when they arrived. </p>
<p>The Shadow of Lasciel. Formed from the essence of one of the most equivocating of the Fallen and the sanctimonious Harry Dresden. Fifty percent him, fifty percent her and likely to be a hundred percent a pain in my ass. </p>
<p>Uriel knew damn well what he was doing. I wished I'd kicked him earlier. </p>
<p>"Why are you here?" I snapped, flicking the onion ring back into her lap when we'd successfully merged. "How are you here? And what exactly wasn't Lasciel telling us?" </p>
<p>She plucked the onion ring from her lap and nibbled on it for a moment. </p>
<p>"That's a difficult question to answer. There's no clear reason to the question 'why' in its entirety, even for angels. Too many moving parts to be able to know the whole picture at all times. Omniscient we are not. And as this...new being I am now, I know even less. I was cut off from much of Lasciel's power and Intellectus when she excised me. That was why the Outsider's targeted attack scattered my essence." </p>
<p>"Excised you?" I echoed. "Why would she do that?" </p>
<p>Lasciel sever her own shadow? Foolish and out of character for the capricious Fallen. She had to know the consequences that would result. </p>
<p>The shadow smiled faintly. "Do humans not excise cancerous growths? I was anomalous, dangerous. A threat to the whole. Of course she cut me away."</p>
<p>I still wasn't sure what she was getting at. I'd never heard of a shadow behaving in such a fashion. Of course, Dresden himself was anomalous, his resistance to her great. Trust the wizard to manage to break a being older than time itself. </p>
<p>"And you perished?" </p>
<p>She nodded, mimed bringing a gun to her temple and pulling the trigger. "Concentrated power from an Outsider. I bore the brunt of it to spare Harry. I chose death and it earned me Lasciel's wrath. I hear we're similar in that regard. You chose death at your father's hand." </p>
<p>I jerked my chin up, bristling. Her tone hadn't' been accusatory but something lurked behind the words. Unhappiness. Perhaps a hint of scorn.</p>
<p>"It's never been the place of an angel to judge," I reminded her coldly. </p>
<p>She laughed again, wadded up the empty onion ring sleeve, and shoved it into the now-empty bag. </p>
<p>"Oh, I'm no angel, Deirdre. Not anymore. I'm not even technically Fallen." </p>
<p>"Then what are you?"</p>
<p>Lash puzzled over the question for a beat. "I'm not certain. Nothing quite like me has existed before. I think...I may be a sort of construct, like the Archive. Built for a purpose and encased in flesh." </p>
<p>She gestured broadly to the body she wore. "This body belonged to Sheila Lashaye. It's like walking through a house with no occupant. The pictures and furniture are here but she's absent. Sheila was a successful child actress. She was also the victim of predation by the show's producer. She suffered from severe substance abuse issues from age twelve on and it ultimately caused her death. Hypoxic brain injury."</p>
<p>"You're animating a corpse?" </p>
<p>Strange for an archangel to endorse one of the blackest forms of magic known to wizardkind.</p>
<p>She shook her head. "It was a...swap, of sorts. Shelia granted me access to her body if I would mend the shattered relationship with her parents. She appeared to make a miraculous recovery and is now destined for rehab." </p>
<p>"Redemption boot camp," I muttered. </p>
<p>"Precisely." The shadow gave me a glittering grin and reached for the next brown paper sack. </p>
<p>I gave her a narrow-eyed look. "Does he think you can somehow endear me to the idea? I've told him I won't play his game. Mundane human existence. Net-zero. Nothing you say will change that." </p>
<p>"The restrictions can be lifted after a time. If enough work has been done." </p>
<p>My back peeled off the seat audibly as I sat up straighter. Absurd hope blitzed my body with dopamine and adrenaline alike. In the weeks since my return, apathy had begun to settle in. All I'd ever worked or cared for out of my reach. To dwell on it would drive me mad. But wandering through mortal life without purpose was almost as hellish as the prospect of returning Tartarus. </p>
<p>I could see Father again? Speak to him? Even with the limits the Archangel would no doubt impose, it was more of a boon than I'd ever dared hope for. Lash smiled, reading the eagerness I hastily tried to conceal. </p>
<p>"What terms?" I gritted out finally. </p>
<p>"Why don't we start by dusting that chip off your shoulder? Let's call it...court-ordered therapy."</p>
<p>I stared at her. "You can't be serious." </p>
<p>The eager grin on her face seemed almost profane. She mimed puffing on a pipe for an exaggerated moment and then blew smoke through her lips. Illusion. So the shadow retained some magic. Great. </p>
<p>She affected a faux German accent. "So, Deirdre...tell me about your mother."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This idea's been floating in my head for a while. Will probably go wildly off canon, since I plan to keep updating it and we're a ways off from Jim's apocalyptic trilogy. I think he says there's going to be twenty-five total and we're getting books sixteen and seventeen this year. Anyway, I hope it'll still be an enjoyable story regardless.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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